


First of His Name

by ChronicBookworm



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Getting Together, King Stannis, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-03-08 17:43:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18899512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChronicBookworm/pseuds/ChronicBookworm
Summary: Robert Baratheon dies of wounds received at the Trident. Long live King Stannis Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdom and Protector of the Realm, aged 19 recent survivor the siege of Storm’s End. Luckily, there is one person who will help him and who he can trust implicitly: the newly knighted Ser Davos Seaworth.





	First of His Name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Plaid_Slytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plaid_Slytherin/gifts).



The man who was brought to see him was young-ish, maybe a few years older than himself, and very handsome: dark curls, a robust jawline, well-proportioned, and most importantly, it was a strong face, with a clear blue gaze that didn’t shirk from Stannis’. It was the eyes that drew him in, mostly. They were honest. Stannis hadn’t seen honest eyes in a very long time. Mostly the eyes around him were gaunt, and hopeless, and despairing. The smuggler had brought them hope. Stannis had chosen to meet him in his solar, rather than in the reception hall, where most lowborn people were received. Davos the smuggler was fairly notorious in Westeros, and he wanted to stay away from curious onlookers who came just to gawp at a minor celebrity, or to break up the monotony of living under siege by sticking their noses into their lord’s business. Of course, Stannis wasn’t their lord, that was Robert, but Stannis had grown up in Storm’s End, unlike Robert, and he knew these people, unlike Robert, and he was here ruling the castle, unlike Robert. He might not be their lord in name, but he was their lord in practice. So he had to comport himself in a manner befitting the lord of a great castle, and not let his visitors be turned into a spectacle for the entertainment of the castle inhabitants (as much as they might long for spectacles and entertainment after months of being held prisoner in their own home).

“It doesn’t seem very wise to smuggle goods to someone who’s known for not abiding law-breakers, especially when you have a known record for smuggling such as yours. I believe there has been more than one edict with a reward for your capture,” Stannis observed. “Were you expecting to have your record wiped clean, your transgressions forgiven, if we win this war?”

“Mostly I was hoping you’d pay me more than I’d get in King’s Landing. See, the war’s not actually that great for business, what with all the extra security and patrols and whatnot, so I was sitting on a pile of smuggled goods and nowhere to get rid of them. I thought, where can I get the best price for this food, and I figured the men who’ve been starving for seven months would probably be most appreciative,” the man said. “Besides, I’ve seen people starve to death in Flea Bottom, and that’s a terrible way to go. I might as well do some good at the same time.”

Stannis nodded as his first impressions of the man as fundamentally honest (despite his profession) were confirmed. That was certainly something he appreciated. He also had the suspicion that while he happily claimed to mostly have done it for the coin, the second reason he cited so dismissively actually held more weight than he pretended. Stannis would never claim to be a great diviner of people’s souls and motives, but the man in front of him seemed like he was on Stannis’ level. For some reason, he felt he understood him, even after meeting him but once.

“Well, if you want to do good and earn some extra coin at the same time, perhaps you can tell me what news there is of the war. People don’t generally go out of their way to tell those they’re besieging what is happening, and we have been almost as starved of news as we have been of food. We have coin, but nothing to spend it on.”

“The war’s almost won, milord,” Davos said. “Prince Rhaegar was slain by your brother Lord Robert at the Battle of the Trident, and King Aerys was slain by Jaime Lannister during the Sack of Kings Landing. Lord Lannister has declared for the rebels. But…” he looked hesitant. “I’m afraid I have bad news, milord. Your brother, King Robert, took a severe wound at the battle. They say he's fighting for his life, but the infection may kill him yet. Lord Arryn's holding King’s Landing in his name, while Lord Stark's taking a host here. He will be here within a moon’s turn to liberate Storm’s End. The Queen's fled to Dragonstone with the young Prince and the few remaining Targaryen loyalists who haven’t bent the knee to Robert.”

Stannis made some quick mental calculations. The food the smuggler had supplied them with should be enough to tide them over until Stark arrived, if they rationed it well. If Robert died, then Stannis was the next in line to the throne, as Robert’s heir, and after him, Renly. Had they perished in the siege, and Robert from his wounds, the Seven Kingdoms might have been without a King – he very much doubted anyone of the rebels, who apparently held the power, would countenance Aerys’ eight-year-old son as the King. No, most likely, Davos the smuggler had just secured the future of the throne of Westeros with his onions and his fish. That spoke well of his sense of reason and duty, and of his good character.

*

The provision of food, even though it was not a huge amount, gave the castle new hope, and new energy. Stannis hadn’t told anyone about what the smuggler had said, but somehow the news had spread anyway: help was on the way. They were winning the war. They just had to hold on. Luckily, the other news had not yet spread – while Stannis knew the men respected him for seeing them through the siege, he was not sure that they would hold to the same high spirits if they knew that Robert was dying or dead, and that he was their future King. Robert had always been the figurehead of the Rebellion, after all. It had been in his name they had fought and starved. Not in Stannis’.

Eddard Stark came with an army, and Stannis gave the order to prepare to ride out to battle. It turned out to be unnecessary: the Tyrells laid down their banners at the sight of the large Northern host approaching. Stannis was relieved – if there had been a battle, his starved, weak, and tired men were in no shape to fight. There was not a single man, woman, or child in Storm’s End who was not able to count the ribs on their chest when Stark finally delivered fresh grain and meat to them. Stark forced the Tyrells to give up their food, and share it with those they had taunted and mocked for near on a year. Stark tried to get them to make peace with the Tyrells, to be gracious in victory, as he put it. Stannis might make peace, but he knew he would never forgive them. Laying siege to a castle was one thing: they were doing their duty to their King. Taunting and mocking those in the castle with grand feasts each night was another thing entirely, and it spoke of Mace Tyrell as a man without honour, and he would remember that in the future.

Stark then left to go to Dorne, the last hold-out of the war, and ostensibly the location of his sister, the woman who had started the entire war. Stannis realised he might be a tiny bit harsh on Lyanna Stark, but he was not inclined to be charitable under the circumstances. After all, if it hadn’t been for Rhaegar kidnapping her and Robert taking offense, there would not have been a need for the war, no need to starve. Aerys was a bad King, but King nonetheless. The realm had survived bad Kings before, and likely would again - one couldn’t go around deposing Kings just because one didn’t agree with them. But Rhaegar had broken faith with the Lords Paramount of the North and the Stormlands by taking their daughter and betrothed, and Aerys had broken it further when instead of giving recompense, he had the Lord Paramount of the North and his heir burned alive. Torn between the loyalty he owed his King and the loyalty he owed his brother, Stannis had chosen to uphold the ties of blood. After all, it was the Targaryens who had broken faith, and when it came down to it, he had sworn an oath of loyalty to his liege lord, who was Robert, and only implicitly to the Crown. And the gods frowned on oathbreakers and kinslayers alike. When it came down to it, his duty had been clear.

His feelings on Stark were more complicated. The man was more brother to Robert than he himself was, and Stannis didn’t know whether he envied the man that or not. He also had very complicated feelings about Robert – that he would now never get to resolve. Who was Stannis without Robert’s shadow to measure himself against? He, Stannis Baratheon, was 19 years old, and a claimant of the Iron Throne – the only claimant, in fact, who had a claim of both blood and conquest (the Targaryens had a stronger claim by blood, and Stark, Arryn, Tully and Lannister all had claims by conquest, but only Stannis had both). Stark had bent the knee to Stannis before he left, making it clear that he supported Stannis’ claim, and where Stark went, Arryn and Tully would most likely follow. Stark bending the knee meant that the Tyrells had little choice but to follow in his example, although they had done so with great reluctance, and he had no illusions that he would be able to rely on their support. But with four out of the seven kingdoms recognising his claim (the North, the Vale, the Riverlands, and of course the Stormlords were his – he was one of them, and they knew how he had suffered alongside them during the siege), there were good chances that the other three would follow – especially since the four who did recognise him were the four kingdoms who currently had the power to determine who sat on the throne.

Would he be a good King? He’d been a younger son, not brought up to rule – that was Robert. He never had the ability to inspire faith in people and get them to follow him – that was Robert. He hadn’t gone to war and won it – that was Robert. He had spent the war sitting it out in Storm’s End – while his position had been absolutely key, tying up the Tyrell forces and preventing them from joining the Targaryens at the Trident, it was not the flashy kind of heroics people believed won wars. Would people always be measuring him against the imaginary King Robert would have been? The hero, larger than life? Would they resent him for not being Robert?

*

Stannis arrived in King’s Landing with unnecessary pomp and circumstance, and people lined the streets to watch him pass. There was no cheering, but he had hardly expected any, given the circumstances. Many buildings were little more than rubble, there were scorch marks along the walls, and the people seemed gaunt and hollow-eyed. Stannis felt a strange sense of kinship with them, as he too was more skeleton than man, and his face was more eyes than face. The Lannister army that had sacked the city and were now keeping order, were well-fed and rosy-cheeked, he noticed. Typical Lannisters. Almost as bad as the Tyrells, grasping for power and looking for any opportunity to enrich their coffers – and the war had likely afforded them many such opportunities. That was one of the first things he was going to change.

They’d cleared the throne room out for him, and he walked the stone floor up to the throne and sat down gingerly on it. He was skinny enough that he could fit easily, without having to worry about being cut. He wasn’t superstitious, but he hoped that boded well for his reign. His first edict was to see to it that the smallfolk were fed – he knew how hunger felt, and how desperate it made men. Order would be restored when the people had food.

His second order was to send some men to find the smuggler Davos and bring him to the Red Keep.

He announced to the smuggler in front of the court, that he was having him knighted, giving him the right to take the name Ser Davos Seaworth, and gave him a small keep to stay in when he wasn’t in King’s Landing, serving as Stannis’ Master of Ships. The royal navy had been all but disintegrated, as well as the fleets of the rebels. Who better to rebuild it than someone who clearly knew his ships?

“You honour me, Your Grace,” the newly knighted Ser Davos Seaworth said. “I shall serve you well.”

“I am sure you shall, or I would not have appointed you,” Stannis replied. He had no patience for the empty words people threw around to curry favour. He hoped Davos wouldn’t start hiding behind courtesies now that he was a knight.

“But there is one more thing I must do,” Stannis said. He’d thought on how to deal with the smuggler who saved his life, yet broke the law to do so. How to reward him, how to punish him. He needed to start his reign off right, by sending the right message. “The laws of Westeros prohibit the smuggling of goods, and you knowingly broke the law. You also confessed to having done so on more than one occasion. You did save my life, but a good deed does not wash out the bad, nor a bad the good. I can’t ignore that you broke the law, simply because I benefitted from it. That would not make me a just King. A just King always upholds the law, and the punishment for smuggling is to lose your fingers.”

The court drew a collective breath and held it. The smuggler looked down at his hands in silence for a few beats.

“That seems fair, Your Grace,” he said eventually. “I just have one request.”

“Which is?”

“That you look me in the eyes and do it yourself.”

That was… not what Stannis had expected. To be honest, he didn’t quite know what he expected, but that certainly was not it. Maybe for the smuggler to curse him, spit at him, rail against the injustice. But he hadn’t. Davos had accepted his punishment with far more grace than Stannis had seen before, and his request, that Stannis do it himself, well, that was merely the honourable course of action. Stannis asked for a sharp knife to be brought him, and a Maester.

Ser Davos Seaworth did not scream as Stannis removed his fingers. Stannis felt his admiration for the man just grow and grow.

*

There were many things a King needed to do, especially one newly instated. He hadn’t even been crowned yet, and there were still thousands of people clamouring for his attentions. He knew the way around that was to appoint a Hand, someone he could delegate to, someone people could seek out so not everyone came to him. His Hand needed to be someone on the side of the rebellion – he couldn’t trust the loyalists to do what was best for the Kingdom, they were as likely as not to plot to put Viserys back on the throne. Would that he could appoint Davos Seaworth, for all that they had met recently. The man had a good head on his shoulders, and had immediately set out to repair the navy. He was diligent and honourable, and everything a man should be, in Stannis’ opinion. But Davos was lowborn, only recently knighted, and not used to ruling. He was barely accepted as Master of Ships – if Stannis appointed him Hand, he was likely to have a new rebellion on his hands. No, it needed to be someone from the main houses of the rebellion: Baratheon (whose only member other than Stannis was little Renly, a child still), Stark (who would in all certainty wish to go home to the North), Lannister (who might turn on Stannis just as quickly as they turned on the Targaryens), which left Tully or Arryn. He knew less of Tully’s character than Arryn, but Tully had the advantages of not having recently married, and having an almost grown son who could take over running Riverrun while Tully was in King’s Landing, and being 20 years younger than Arryn. Robert would pick Arryn without question – the man was his foster father, the one who had supported him throughout his entire life. He was the kind of man Stannis would approve of – hard, but fair and even-tempered. Stannis almost managed to convince himself that his reasons were enough to make a rational case for picking Tully over Arryn, despite knowing little of the former’s character, and knowing that the latter would suit. But he had always been bad at lying to himself. He named Arryn Hand of the King.

Arryn came with his young wife, a child young enough to be his granddaughter, sallow and miserable. There must be a story there, as to why Tully would marry his daughter to a man so much older, even if he were the Lord Paramount of the Vale. It couldn’t just be to gain influence. Arryn was trying his best to make the best of the situation, to let friendship if not love bloom between the newlyweds, and Stannis was reasonably certain that was why he suggested the girl’s childhood friend, Petyr Baelish, son of a minor Vale lord, as Master of Coin on Stannis’ Small Council. Stannis wasn’t about to have someone he knew nothing of on his Small Council, so he asked Davos if he knew anything about the man – he was usually remarkably well informed, Stannis had come to experience, since a smuggler needed to know who to avoid, who could be bribed, and what cover story various officials would believe, which meant keeping up-to-date with both official and unofficial business of the nobles.

“Nasty man, what little I know of him,” was Davos’ opinion. “He arrived in the city some moons ago, and I heard he’s looking to start up a brothel.”

Well, that put an end to that potential appointment. Nobody who was involved in that sordid business was getting anywhere near Stannis’ Small Council. In fact, Stannis had plans to do away with the whole business. It wasn’t at the top of his priorities – first he needed to ensure food was delivered to the city, and that justice was dispensed to those who deserved it, but it was definitely something he wished to do at some point in the future.

*

Stannis usually found the battlements of the Red Keep deserted in the evening, aside from the guards, who were well-trained enough to ignore their King when he was seeking peace and quiet. He was surprised one evening to find his favourite spot already occupied, by none other than the Onion Knight, his Master of Ships, himself. Had it been anyone else, Stannis would have been annoyed to have his sought-out solitude interrupted, and would have considered sending the other person away, but he found that he didn’t mind Davos there. Davos never tried to get Stannis’ attention for his own petty concerns, he didn’t have any hidden motives, he wasn’t vying for attention or power.

“Your Grace,” Davos greeted him with a bow of the head.

“Ser Davos,” Stannis returned.

They stood next to each other in silence a few moments, watching the sun sink over the rooftops of King’s Landing.

“Never thought I’d see the city from this vantage point,” Davos mused at last.

Stannis made a vague sound indicating that he was listening.

“I always thought I’d live and die a smuggler, have a few kids, bring them up to also be smugglers. Now I’m the Master of Ships, with a title and a surname and a keep.”

“Is your wife looking after the keep?” Stannis asked. He had a vague feeling that Davos was married. But Davos hadn’t made any sounds about bringing a wife to King’s Landing, or made any mention of missing her.

“Aye, she is. She’s very grateful, of course, it beats a hovel in Flea Bottom by a mile.”

There was an unspoken “but” hanging in the air between them, and when it became clear that Davos wasn’t going to voice it, Stannis prompted him.

“Well, it’s just – this new position, being a lady, it’s made it difficult for her with her friends. She used to have a bosom companion, who’d keep her company and share her bed when I was away, but a lady doesn’t keep company with a rope maker’s daughter. I think she’s lonely.”

He paused for a brief moment, and when he continued, his voice had taken on a slightly cautious resonance.

“Marya and I are very good friends and companions, but what she shared with Sarsah went beyond what she has with me.”

Stannis had realised at a fairly young age that he felt an attraction towards men that other men felt towards women. Liking men, the way Stannis did, made one very keen on nuances of language. Wondering if there were more like him out in the world, picking up hints that others might have missed. Something in the way Davos said the last, if it was his phrasing or his tone of voice, made Stannis wonder if perhaps Marya was a woman who preferred company of women – for just as there were men who preferred the company of men, there must be the equivalent women. Stannis hadn’t spent much time in womanly circles, so he hadn’t met any himself, but well – the way Davos reported her sharing something with her female bosom companion beyond what she shared with her husband, made Stannis suspect that maybe she was one such woman.

Which led him to the next leap of faith – if Davos were in fact speaking of such matters to Stannis, however circumspectly, it meant that he knew about his wife’s inclinations – and that he didn’t mind.

And if he didn’t mind those inclinations in Marya, perhaps he wouldn’t mind them in Stannis?

But that was taking things one step too far. Stannis was the King of the Seven Kingdoms – and one not yet crowned, who was King solely because all other viable claimants had died. He could not risk anything potentially damaging to his reputation getting out, and while he trusted Davos implicitly, they said that in the Red Keep, the walls had ears. It was better to not give them anything to hear.

*

Once the thought had been raised, it was very difficult to dislodge. However, Stannis did not have the time to think overmuch on Davos’ acceptance of or indulgence in various romantic inclinations – he had other concerns. Such as the coronation, establishing him as King Stannis Baratheon, First of His Name, the rightful and true King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Quite a mouthful for a nineteen-year-old, but he was far from the youngest to have been given that title. Stannis himself was very little involved in the coronation preparations – it seemed a lot of useless frippery. As long as he said the words and the crown was placed on his head, who cared what he wore or what flowers were in the sept, or what the food was after? Stannis was still in the stage where he marvelled that there actually _was_ food – it had not been many weeks since he was starving, on the verge of death. And now he was in the Red Keep, where even war-time rations seemed to him an excess of gluttony.

But Davos had advised him to go ahead with it – to give the people something to celebrate. They were hungry, scared, and tired of the war. The coronation would show them that it was over. Stannis took his advice: it seemed sound, and Davos had not steered him wrong yet. Davos spoke sense the way few people did, he was cunning and not afraid to show it. He wasn’t afraid of the consequences of his actions, but faced them bravely, such as when he had allowed Stannis to take his fingers. That showed the true mark of an honourable man. There were few men Stannis admired as much as Ser Davos Seaworth, urchin turned smuggler turned Master of Ships.

Stark arrived for the coronation, with his sister’s bones and a bastard in his arms. Stannis would not have thought that about Stark. What would Robert say now, if he could see his precious honourable Ned Stark, father of a bastard? For a moment, Stannis felt a strong sense of triumph, of having shown himself better than Robert’s preferred brother. But Robert was dead, and knowing Robert, he would probably have congratulated Stark anyway. Even this victory seemed hollow.

*

The night after the coronation, Stannis snuck out of the feast. He didn’t seem to be necessary to the events in the Red Keep, as the nobles were stuffing themselves, drinking themselves into a stupor, and making fools of themselves just fine without his presence to oversee things. The music was overloud and far too cheerful (reminiscent of the tunes the Tyrells had played beneath his window as they feasted on nine-course meals and the occupants of the Storm’s End were rapidly running out of rats and mice to put in their stews), the men were dressed gaudily, and the women inappropriately. It was a blur of colour, sound and smells, and quite overwhelming. He had been surrounded by young women who were tittering around him, begging him for his attention, until it became fairly clear that he wasn’t about to ask anyone to dance. Then they had all departed to find more fertile ground among the peacocks of the court, and good riddance. The entire affair made him sick, and he could scare believe it was in his honour. They did not honour him. They wanted an excuse for their gluttony.

Davos found him on the balustrade. Davos, who probably felt as out of place as Stannis, if not more so. Davos, who probably found the entire affair as off-putting and offensive as Stannis. Davos, who knew what it was to starve.

“Is this what you thought of, when you said the coronation would show the smallfolk that they were safe and were being fed?” Stannis asked sardonically. “Has this offense to decency brought any comfort to the occupants of King’s Landing?”

“Not this, but bread has been delivered to all the orphanages in honour of the day. Even now, goldcloaks are distributing leftovers from the feast in Flea Bottom. The music can be heard down underneath the Red Keep, and there will be a gathering there, of people holding their own feast. This is a good thing,” Davos replied.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Stannis confessed. “I’m not popular, not charming, I have never had the way of making people love me the way Robert did. And I hate that that matters. Why should it matter whether or not I can give a good speech? I am fair, and just. I will keep order in the Kingdoms. Surely that should matter more than whether or not I can remember what people’s children are called and what japes they find amusing. That has nothing to do with ruling. And yet people will call me a bad King because of it.”

“You will be the best godsdamned King these Kingdoms have ever seen,” Davos said with conviction. “And fuck anyone who says differently.”

Stannis was taken aback at the unusually strong sentiments, and the wording of them – but it was still reassuring to have such faith placed in himself. If Davos, who was so wise and insightful believed in Stannis, then he couldn’t be doing too badly.

He looked down at where their hands were next to each other on the balustrade, and slowly, Davos took his hand and placed it over Stannis’. Stannis jolted, but as Davos made to pull his hand back, he caught it with his other hand. Stannis dressed and washed himself (he never saw the need to have servants do tasks for him that he was perfectly capable of doing for himself), and so he realised that this was the first time anyone had touched him since he became King. The touch felt almost painful on his hand. He wouldn’t give it up for anything.

*

Davos apparently had realised Stannis’ reaction to touch – suddenly he was touching Stannis constantly, coming up with a thousand small excuses. He would straighten Stannis’ collar, brush imaginary dust off his surcoat, place a hand on his shoulder, and other small, tiny touches, that were innocuous on their own, but added up. Stannis was always keenly aware of them, and would feel the touch for hours afterwards.

*

Once he was crowned, he could get on with the actual business of ruling. Stannis was determined to start his reign the right way – the just way. Which meant that he had Gregor Clegane located, a young knight in Tywin’s army (although Stannis despaired of knighthood in Westeros, if Gregor Clegane was an example of their order), the one who had according to what he’d been told been the one to actually kill the Crown Princess and her children. The trial was swift – he didn’t even bother to deny it. The walls of the Red Keep gained one more head.

Jaime Lannister’s trial was more complicated, and also better attended. Clegane was a minor lord, a kennel-master’s son raised up, whereas Lannister was Kingsguard and the son of a Lord Paramount.

He didn’t bother denying the charge, either (why would he? He’d been found sitting on the Iron Throne with a dripping sword, Aerys’ bloody corpse at his feet). But he did, however, argue for his life.

“We’re all traitors, here,” he said, standing tall and proud, and not at all ashamed of his actions. “You want to condemn me for clearing your path to where you sit now? That doesn’t seem like the fabled fairness you’re so known for. To me, that seems more like hypocrisy.”

“The rebellion was just,” Stannis said. He didn’t like having to defend himself at this trial which was supposed to be for Lannister, but he could hear the court mutter at his words, and knew he had to quench this line of thought before the mutterings grew into actions. “Rhaegar broke faith when abducted Lyanna Stark. Aerys broke the covenant between liege and vassals when he had Rickard and Brandon Stark burned to death without a trial instead of granting them her release or just compensation, as was their right after his House had so dishonoured theirs. Kings make the law, but they are not _above_ the law. They cannot do as they wish with no consequences. My brother and Eddard Stark were justified in calling their banners to make the Targaryens answer for their crimes, and I did my duty when I responded to their call. Meanwhile, _you_ broke your sacred oath as Kingsguard. _You_ killed the man you had sworn before the gods to protect with your own life. I name you Oathbreaker, and Kingslayer, and a man without honour.”

“So many vows...” Lannister said, now just sounding tired. He must have sensed that the trial was not going his way. “They make you swear and swear. Defend the king. Obey the king. Keep his secrets. Do his bidding. Your life for his. But obey your father. Love your sister. Protect the innocent. Defend the weak. Respect the gods. Obey the laws. It's too much. No matter what you do, you're forsaking one vow or the other. I chose to protect the innocent, defend the weak and obey my father, instead of the madman on the throne, and aren’t you glad I did? Otherwise your head might be on top of that wall.”

“I cannot let crimes go unpunished merely because I benefit from them,” Stannis said severely. How did so few people understand this? None but Davos had accepted it unquestioningly. “That is not justice. However, because you claim to have tried to uphold other oaths you swore, I will offer you mercy. I will offer you the chance to regain your honour, and show that you are able to keep your sworn oaths, if you have but one of them to keep. I will offer you the chance to keep your life – as a brother of the Night’s Watch.”

He saw the hope briefly light in the man’s eyes, and then dim again, but Jaime Lannister traded his white cloak for a black one.

“You’ve made an enemy of Tywin Lannister,” Davos observed. “Not the kind of man you want as an enemy. What is it they keep saying? Lannisters always pay their debts. I bet his bill, when it comes, will be expensive.”

“He’s not the kind of man I want as a friend, either,” said Stannis. “I need to bring justice to the Kingdoms.”

“With all due respect, Your Grace, you need to bring peace,” Davos contradicted. “There is no justice in wartime.”

Few would dare disagree so openly with their King. Stannis knew to treasure that. He told himself that his feelings for Davos were purely platonic, that they were an admiration of his character and a fondness that one felt for friends, nothing more. But he was very bad at lying to himself.

*

Stark left for the North after the coronation was over and justice had been done. Stannis did not envy him that reunion with his wife. She probably thought, like Robert did, that Ned Stark was the epitome of honour. Or maybe rumours had already started to make their way north of the babe he bore in his arms. Were there truly no honourable men in the world? That even someone like Eddard Stark would sully himself? Stannis had lost nearly all the respect he had had for the man Robert valued so highly. At least he was fairly certain Davos had no bastards.

Fatherhood seemed to be a hot issue at the moment, or at least to listen to Arryn it was. Stannis needed to marry and beget an heir, post-haste. Apparently Renly wasn’t enough. He’d been brought to King’s Landing to grow up near his family – Stannis wouldn’t abandon him to Maesters and regents. Even though he was King and had plenty to do, he would do his duty to the boy and bring him up properly, so that he’d be a good heir should Stannis not have the fortune to have any sons. He’d appointed Bryen Carron to rule the Stormlands in Renly’s name while the boy was in King’s Landing, a loyal Stormlord who’d fought with Robert at the Trident while his sons had almost starved in Storm’s End with Stannis.

Arryn suggested Tywin Lannister’s daughter, Cersei – apparently he had made an arrangement with them for Robert’s hand in marriage, should Lyanna not survive the war, and it might go some way to mending relations with the Lannister family after he had sent Jaime to the Wall. Stannis rejected it out of hand. He would not marry into a family of turncloaks.

“Also,” Davos observed, “you banished her brother. It’s difficult to see marital felicity stemming from that.”

“Noble marriages are more about politics than romance,” said Arryn, whose own marriage was notoriously lacking in romance.

“I’m not saying you have to love each other,” said Davos. “But you should be able to live with each other, at least. Be good friends. Support each other. You don’t need love for any of that, at least not the kind of love they sing about in songs. But you do need to trust and honour each other.”

Did he speak from experience, Stannis wondered. Was his marriage with Marya not a true marriage, but a union of friendship? Surely the smallfolk must have such unions as well.

“It seems, Your Grace,” Davos continued, “that you have a choice here: you could marry someone from a rebel family, to reward them, or marry someone from a loyalist family, to heal the wounds of the war and bring the country together.”

“Perhaps a Tyrell, to gain the riches of the Reach, since we have alienated the Westerlands?” Arryn suggested. “I believe Lord Mace has two younger sisters?”

“I will never marry a Tyrell,” Stannis managed to get out between clenched teeth. He could still see the Tyrell forces, slobbering over their plates loaded with food.

“Then perhaps a Hightower or a Florent? Giving prominence to those families could undermine the power of the Tyrells? The Hightowers have two unwed daughters – Malora and Lynesse, and the Florents have Selyse and Delena.”

“They too feasted below Storm’s End. I understand why you wish me to marry into the Reach, but I find the very thought abhorrent,” Stannis said. He knew he must marry, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of any of the women Arryn went on to suggest, from either loyalist or rebel houses. He had a true companion in Davos. And if his suspicions were correct, Davos might even not be averse to being a truly true companion. But he dare not risk it – he would suffer in silence. 

Only it wasn’t suffering, because how could he suffer when he had Davos here, beside him? His friendship was almost as good as his love. Stannis, not for the first time, wished he was better at lying to himself. He also, not for the first time, cursed his own nature, that he should find no comfort in the company of women.

*

As a King, Stannis would do his best to do his duty and govern as he best saw fit. Since the nobility tended to dislike an active King who did his duty (he was sure they would have preferred Robert, who would be content to drink and feast and whore his days away and leave the Kingdom to unscrupulous men to fight over), he needed to find his support elsewhere – in the smallfolk. The smallfolk might not have all that much power when it came to running the kingdom, but they did have one major weapon – their numbers, and the threat of riots if they were discontent. The smallfolk actually seemed to like Stannis – apparently his reputation was as a man who was hard but just, which he felt entirely content with. He did his best to make improvements to the lot of the smallfolk, and for that he needed to listen to Davos.

Aerys had almost run the Kingdom to the ground, and then the war had made it worse. It had allowed bad men to rise to the top and exploit the instability. What the Kingdom needed now was stability, a chance to let Stannis root out the corruption and rot in the governance.

“That sounds ambitious, but fair,” Davos said.

“Obviously one of the first things I want to do is to close the brothels,” Stannis said. “To keep the licentiousness out of the city.”

“With all due respect, Your Grace,” Davos said, the phrase that indicated that he was about to gently tell Stannis why he was completely wrong, “closing the brothels will only drive prostitution underground, and hurt women. It won’t actually address any of the root issues – to do that, you’d need to offer the women some other possibilities to make a living. Brothels offer the whores some measure of protection and stability. There are plenty of women whose fathers or husbands died in the war, who have no other way of surviving but to sell their bodies – making prostitution illegal won’t actually do anything to end the practice.”

“But it will make it punishable. It will send a signal that it is not acceptable in my Kingdom,” Stannis argued.

“Are you more interested in making a point, Your Grace, or in actually improving the lot of the smallfolk?”

It took another three hours, but eventually Stannis had to concede the argument. For now.

*

The fleet that they had been reconstructing after the war was almost complete, Davos reported, and would be ready to send to Dragonstone where Queen Rhaella and Viserys had fled to. As Master of Ships, Davos would obviously go with the fleet. Stannis was bereft – he would miss Davos’ good advice. If he were a better liar, he would say that that was the only thing he would miss, but he knew well that he had no skill at lying to himself. He would miss Davos’ common sense, his directness, the way he would challenge Stannis head on, unlike any of the manipulative, scheming nobles in the Red Keep. He would miss the understated humour Davos showed, the casual touches, the warmth. He would miss trading sly glances with Davos whenever a courtier was particularly stupid. He would miss how Davos was always ready to listen when Stannis laid out his fears and insecurities, and how Davos was not afraid to open himself up in turn, speaking of his own fears and insecurities. He would miss Davos interrupting him at work late at night to bully him into bed.

And then word came that Rhaella had died in childbirth, and that loyalists had smuggled Viserys and the baby out of Westeros. There were some mutterings blaming Davos, that if he as Master of Ships had gotten the fleet built up faster, they might have managed to at least set sail before the last Targaryens escaped, but Stannis knew that Davos had done his very best, and if he hadn’t managed it, nobody could. Others held Davos’ past as a smuggler against him, either claiming that he should have known to stop them, or even going so far as to suggest he was in on it, which Stannis thought absurd. There was more than one smuggler in Westeros, for Seven’s sake!

In truth, Stannis was relieved – as if they had been found, he would have had to deal with them somehow. He would of course have done his duty unflinchingly, but what in this situation was his duty? To execute babes? Where was the honour in that? To allow them to live, to grow up in Westeros and be potential threats to his reign? Where was the wisdom in that? No, better that they live in exile in Essos, where they would do no harm to anyone. There was time enough to deal with them if needs be.

*

The coronation was over, justice had been dispensed, and Stannis could finally settle down and rule the Kingdom without any unnecessary distractions (he tried to raise the matter of the brothels to Davos again, but was counselled that it was not yet time. Instead they set up schools that would train women with no family in various trades, and might even help them find positions. One of Davos’ better ideas, Stannis thought, and given that Davos had so many good ideas, that was high praise indeed).

Davos started coming to Stannis with odd requests, bringing up things that seemed out of character. It almost seemed like he was the go-between between Stannis and some other lords.

“Well, they ask,” Davos said, when Stannis confronted him about it. “They ask me to bring various requests to the King, make the King listen, make the King see reason. If I think it seems reasonable, I’ll bring it to you.”

“You’re not a messenger,” Stannis said. He found himself grinding his teeth at the thought of Davos being exploited in such a way, and forced himself to unclench his jaw.

“I’m not, but other people at Court mist as well not exist for all the attention you pay them,” Davos said, not unkindly. “And that might make Nobles… unrestful, if they feel their King doesn’t pay attention to them.”

“I pay attention to what is worth paying attention to, and don’t waste time on the rest of the drivel,” Stannis defended himself. “Nor do I appreciate you bringing such drivel to me. I listen to you precisely because you’re free from drivel.”

He’d never had much patience with the manipulation, lies and games courtiers played, and was determined that his Court would have a minimum of such games (he knew he couldn’t eradicate them entirely). He would not inadvertently play into the hands of schemers by appearing to favour some over others, or to open himself up to be taken advantage of. If that meant that the courtiers didn’t feel listened to, well, then they would be disappointed until they learned to speak to him directly and openly, bringing their plots into the open where he could meet them head on. It was for them to change, not him.

“You know, listening to things you don’t have time for is precisely what you have a Hand for,” Davos said. “Of course, that presupposes you actually listen to your Hand. I’ve tried to tell people that I’m not the Hand, and they should go to Lord Arryn, but it seems neither they nor you have managed to understand that.”

“I would that you were my Hand,” Stannis said. “Arryn is a fine man, to be sure, but he is not you.”

“You’ll make me blush,” Davos said with a joking smile, and perhaps Stannis imagined it, but perhaps there was a faint trace of heightened colour in his cheeks.

“Of course, if you were my Hand, I would raise the question of the brothels again,” Stannis said, and was rewarded by Davos’ amused exasperation. He still kept his scowl in place when Davos sighed that it was still not time, Your Grace. Although he had to work at not letting the corners of his mouth tip upwards in a smile.

*

As Stannis was technically a usurper – even though his claim to the throne went through his brother, who had a legitimate cause for rebellion, he needed to prove he had the right to rule, which in essence meant gaining the approval of the Seven Kingdoms – which was not something he was good at. He did not expect the Targaryen loyalists to fall in line with him immediately – nor would he respect them if they did. He’d gained, if not the respect, then at least the non-hostility of the Martells by executing Elia’s murderer Gregor Clegane and sending his head to them after it had decorated the Red Keep for a moon, and by cracking down on the Lannisters to the extent he had. They didn’t love him, but they accepted him. They also hadn’t loved the Targaryens, despite their rather frequent inter-marriages, but they had respected them, and that had worked for some 300 years. He wasn’t worried about the Martells and Dorne.

Arryn pointed out that still meant he still needed to do something about The Reach and the Crownlands, and also the Lannisters who he had made an enemy of.

Arryn had been the one to propose the marriage alliance between Cersei Lannister and Robert, and then Stannis after Robert's death. He now had a different proposal: to wed Cersei Lannister to a loyal bannerman from the Vale or the Stormlands, where they could keep her in control, and essentially have her as a hostage to Tywin’s good behaviour. Stannis chose Andrew Estermont – his cousin and squire – who he knew to be loyal and true.

For the Tyrells, Stannis chose a less velveted approach – he demanded that they send their second son Garlan to King’s Landing as hostage to the Crown. They didn’t deserve even the pretence of civility he had offered to the Lannisters: after all, the Lannisters had technically been their allies during the war (even if they had only picked a side when the winner was obvious), and technically Stannis did them a favour by offering a marriage between their daughter and his family, even though everyone knew it was in truth not a favour.

Garlan Tyrell was roughly of an age with Renly, and it turned out the two boys got on very well indeed – well enough to make Stannis grind his teeth each time he came across them playing together, as if they were brothers. Would both his brothers find someone to replace Stannis with in their affections? And did it have to be a _Tyrell_ , of all families? Stannis had to admit, he greatly misliked Renly cavorting with Tyrells, who in his experience lacked honour and good breeding, but to make up for it, they were full of ambition. Lord Tyrell had a younger son, too, Stannis recalled, a boy who must be practically a babe, still. In a few years’ time, when the boy was slightly older, perhaps he could arrange for a switch of hostages – the age difference might perhaps be a deterrent against Renly becoming too close with the youngest Tyrell boy. He just had to hope the damage wasn’t too badly done in the meantime, and that Renly was not too far corrupted.

“The boy is not his father,” Davos said. “Let them be. By growing up here, it is more likely that you will gain Garlan’s loyalty for the Crown, than that he will gain Renly’s loyalty for the Tyrells. And from all I’ve seen, Garlan’s a decent lad.”

But the threat was still there, so Stannis went one step further, again on Arryn’s recommendation – he betrothed Renly to Delena Florent, the younger of Lord Florent’s unmarried female relatives. For a man who was so lacking in marital felicity, he certainly had a penchant for matchmaking. This was an implicit threat to the Tyrells – the Florents had a claim to Highgarden, and by marrying the Florents to the royal family, they indicated that they might be willing to support the Florent claim over the Tyrell claim, should the Tyrells decide to do anything foolish. Besides, the Florents and Tyrells hated each other, partly for that reason, so perhaps Delena Florent might be useful in weakening the Tyrells’ hold on Renly. He was too young to be wed just yet, of course, but they agreed that he would wed as soon as he reached manhood at 14 years, and that in the meantime, Delena Florent would be given a home in the Red Keep and a position among the Queen’s ladies.

Speaking of Queen, Stannis had finally picked a lady from the Crownlands, to tie them to the Crown. Had Robert survived and become King, Stannis suspected they might have given Renly Dragonstone, at least as a castellan until a Crown Prince was born. But with Robert dead and Stannis King of the Seven Kingdoms, Storm’s End was Renly’s by right, and Stannis would not deprive him of it. So instead he settled Dragonstone on a Penrose cousin to hold until Stannis could father an heir. Which meant that, instead of giving control over Dragonstone to a close family member, Stannis needed to marry into the Crownlands to secure their support, and to birth the aforementioned heir.

Aelora Velaryon was of the blood of Old Valyria, from a family that had intermarried with the Targaryens so often they were essentially of the same blood – although far enough back that their claim was no threat to Stannis - which would strengthen the links between the Baratheon and Targaryen dynasties, and in such a way solidify the Baratheon dynasty’s claim to the throne. The woman herself seemed not unconscionable – she was obedient to her father, in good health, unconnected to any scandals, and had managed the Driftmark competently while her male relatives were off at war. Had Robert lived, and Stannis been the second son of the Baratheon dynasty, it might be he who was wed to one of the Florents to strengthen the Crown’s hold on the Reach. It seemed disingenuous to say that he was relieved that such was not the case, because that almost made it seem like he was relieved that Robert had died – which he very much was not, regardless of how much he might have resented Robert during his life. But he could mourn his brother, and be quietly relieved that he was marrying by far a better lady than either of the Florents.

“Let me lay out what I expect of this marriage,” Stannis told Lady Aelora in the comfortable sitting room that was to be hers as Queen. He much preferred his own solar, with none of the gaudy ornaments that decorated this place, but he would show her the respect she was due as his future wife by coming to her, rather than sending for her (although, as he husband and King, he would have been in his rights to send for her, but he would rather start the marriage on the right foot). “I will always do my duty by you, give you a place at court, support you financially and protect you from harm, and I will not dishonour you by fathering any bastards. In return, I expect you to do your duty by me, to run the ladies of the court in a manner befitting the new rule, without any indecency or lechery, to be obedient to me, to keep the Crownlands loyal to the Crown, and most importantly, to give me heirs. However, I will not love you. I cannot love you. I feel it’s important that we go into this with our eyes open and that we are honest with each other so we can manage our expectations.”

He’d debated with himself over and over whether to lay it out so bluntly, but he was a blunt man, and he would do her no favours by letting her have false hopes of the marriage. It was not honourable to lead her on. She took the news with composure.

“May I ask her name?” she asked with a hint of sympathy. “The woman who has stolen your heart? Is she already wedded, or unsuitable as a wife for a King, if I may ask?”

And here was the second thing he had debated with himself. But Stannis would not lie to his future wife, so he took a deep breath, and took the plunge.

“Ser Davos Seaworth,” he said quietly. It was the first time he had admitted it out loud, and it seemed almost as if he had stolen something from Davos. After all, should not the first time he admitted it be to the man in question? But it was too late now, it had been put out there, and he could not take it back. He had placed himself at the mercy of Aelora Velaryon, who with this information had the ability to ruin him, to bring scandal over his rule.

She was silent many moments, and the air seemed to Stannis to hand heavy in the chamber, like when a storm hung in the air and you could almost taste the lightning on your tongue. It was difficult to breathe.

“Well,” she said at last. “At least you spoke true when you said you would not father any bastards.”

He didn’t know what that meant for him – did it mean she accepted it with equanimity? Or was this just her way of dealing with unacceptable information, to focus in on details such as this, to try to find the silver lining of the cloud, even if it was a storm cloud?

“I will accept the proposal you lay before me,” she said finally. “It seems fair. I do however have one request: given your affections, I trust you will not object should I find comfort among my ladies?”

He wanted to object, to tell her that it was not Queenly, that her loyalty should be to him and none other, but he was aware that it was a childish and hypocritical reaction, so he ground his teeth, and then managed to say reasonably normally:

“I have no objections, as long as you conduct these affairs discreetly and don’t invite scandal. And as long as the lady you lay your affections with is not objectionable in any way.”

“Naturally,” she said.

So, an arrangement had been made. Now there was just the sordid business of the actual wedding. Stannis wondered how much unnecessary expense his Hand and his Master of Ships would attempt to wrest out of the royal coffers for this spectacle.

*

Marya Seaworth came up to King’s Landing for the wedding – it would be an insult for her not to, since she was in good health to travel, and they had a competent steward to leave the keep to while she was away. She was a relatively short young woman of an age with Davos, a slight hint of plumpness to her hips that witnessed of her having borne three children already, and round face that was open in a kindly smile as she curtseyed to Stannis. She had naturally been offered a place among the Queen’s ladies – since her husband was Master of Ships, she was owed nothing less. If his suspicions were true, and she did favour women, perhaps she might find happiness with Aelora?

Stannis kept an eye on the interactions between Davos and his wife, and while he found more warmth and friendship than in many marriages, he also did not see any sign of more than friendship between them. But perhaps they were a very private couple who kept such displays of affection between themselves?

Stannis was driving himself mad not knowing. The way Davos had spoken indicated that Marya liked women – but perhaps she liked both men and women. Perhaps Davos liked exclusively women, and just because he was not repulsed by the thought of a woman liking other women, it was not to say that he would not be repulsed if he knew that Stannis liked other men in general, and Davos in specific. So he kept silent, and wondered constantly whether all the small touches meant something, or whether he was indulging in frivolous, wasteful wishful thinking, which were not the kind of thoughts Stannis should be occupying himself with. He had a kingdom to rule. Besides, what were the odds of finding four people, all attracted to their own sex, and all married to each other. The odds were vanishingly small – unless liking one’s own sex was more common than people thought, and everyone who was afflicted simply kept it very quiet for fear of their own shame getting out. Given the kinds of secrets and licentiousness that otherwise went on at court, that would not surprise Stannis in the least. He had not yet found a single person without something to hide, and he included himself in that number. Humanity truly was terrible.

But Davos was not terrible, and Marya did not seem to be truly terrible either.

“She’s a fine woman, your Marya,” Stannis said to Davos on their usual spot on the balustrades, looking out over the city lights in the darkness. They could just see the pitch blackness of the Blackwater. “I can see why you’re so fond of her.”

“We’re not highborn, Your Grace,” Davos said.

“I know,” Stannis replied, wondering at the change in subject, and why it was relevant. Why did it matter that Davos was not highborn? He was worth more than anyone of noble or royal blood, and had shown it a hundred times over.

“You do know, but I’m not sure you know what that means. We lowborns aren’t like you highborns. We don’t get married for alliances or politics. Lowborns – especially one from Flea Bottom – what do we care for lineages or inheritances? At most, our inheritance will be a rundown hut by the waste gutters of the Red Keep. Marriage for us is optional, a choice we make, not a necessity for politics or inheritances.”

Stannis felt a hand of ice claw its way under his breast. Was this when Davos confessed his deep abiding love for his wife in an attempt to let him down gently?

Davos took a deep breath.

“I married Marya because she was my best friend, and because she likes women the way I like men, it gave us some plausible deniability.”

And there it was: what Stannis had tortured himself over for many moons, the confirmation that Davos liked men. It felt like a weight he had been carrying had been lifted off him, and of course it had been Davos to lift it off him. But was it also confirmation that Davos liked Stannis in the way he hoped it did?

Davos seemed nervous. For someone who was usually so free with his touches, he kept a marked distance from Stannis on the balustrade, half a man’s width between them. Was he afraid of rejection? Did he think that Stannis, who was so quick to condemn the failings of others, would condemn him for this? This failing that Stannis himself shared? It was not to be.

Stannis reached out slowly and placed his hand over Davos’. He grasped it gently, and Davos lifted his head and his grey eyes met Stannis’. They were wide – surprised or hopeful? Stannis had a hard time telling. His mouth was slightly open, but he made no move to tug his hand away. Stannis pulled Davos towards himself, and again Davos made no move to resist, but went willingly. The kiss they shared was gentle. Then it was decidedly not gentle.

*

Stannis and Davos, as two men, couldn’t get married, but what did that matter? They were as good as married anyway, and had been, even before their first kiss. There was nothing they did not share, they found joy in each other’s’ joys, and sorrow in each other’s sorrow, they held each other’s trust and drew strength from each other’s company. They didn’t need a septon to tell them that their love was valid.

Davos seemed to want something more, though, and Stannis lived to please Davos, so in the end they pledged their love, loyalty and commitment to each other in front of the statue of the Smith that Davos kept in his rooms. Stannis did not hold much with religion, but Davos did, and nothing brought him more joy than making Davos happy, so a vow in front of the Smith’s statue it was. And in truth, he couldn’t deny that there was something powerful in swearing an oath under ceremonial circumstances. It seemed to give more weight to the words than a regular oath would have, although, naturally, the ceremony was not strictly speaking necessary for the oath to be binding.

There were no witnesses other than themselves there, and to Stannis, this ceremony meant far more than the gaudy spectacle that his actual wedding was shaping up to be. A septon could not give this more legitimacy than it already had – Davos and Stannis were both men who valued their word above all else, and they had given their word to hold true to each other. That was what mattered.

*

“I still aim to close the brothels, you know,” Stannis told Davos on the spot on the balustrades that had become theirs.

Davos gave off a small laugh.

“Well, if anyone can do it, I believe you can,” he said sincerely. “When it’s time.”

“And when will it be time?” Stannis asked.

“Oh, not for a good many years yet. But we have time.”

“Yes, that we do. That we do, indeed.”

Hands interlocked, they stood side by side and watched the sun rise over King's Landing. 


End file.
